If You Forget
by possibilist
Summary: Sometimes she forgets. Who she is. But there are always people to remind her: She is Hermione. She is loved. A Hermione-centric oneshot, mostly post-DH, with RHr romance as well as other friendships.


Summary: Sometimes she forgets. Who she is. But there are always people to remind her: She is Hermione. She is loved. A Hermione-centric oneshot, mostly post-DH, with RHr romance as well as other friendships.

AN (1) : Recommended listening : **"So Far From Me" by Brett Dennen**

AN (2) : Well, I'm done with my first year of college, officially! Wooo! Super crazy and a little scary, but awesome all the same. And my birthday's on Tuesday! I will officially be a legal adult! lol. Because of those cool things, though, this is my first new fic in a while. ... a drabble-y little oneshot that was inspired by the lovely Brett Dennen (see above :D). Please leave a review, and happy summer, friends! :D

* * *

><p><strong>If You Forget<strong>

_Pain reminds us that we're alive. Love reminds why._

- Unknown

* * *

><p>She forgets.<p>

She does not remember being terrified. She does not remember the blue of his eyes, mirroring her own fear, or how he'd begged for her life. Offered himself in her place.

She does not remember Harry or evil or fighting or what's _right._

All she does know is pain. An indescribable amount of pain, everywhere. In her fingertips, her scalp, her stomach, her shins, her chest, the palms of her hands. She's certain that every single one of her bones is shattering, positive that her skin is on fire, that acid must be coursing through her veins.

She doesn't know she screams.

Then Bellatrix lifts the curse, and she remembers. Remembers her cheek pressed against the cold floor, Draco's shiny shoes in the corner, though they're blurry through tears.

She remembers why she is there.

Why she must make it as take as long as possible for Bellatrix to kill her.

There is a question and she doesn't remember how to answer.

And then she does not know who she is. Who _anyone_ is. In those moments, the only real thing in the entire world is that she is being broken.

And she wants to die.

But then she hears him.

He tells her her name. Over and over again. Tells her - in that - how they'd grown up together. How they'd bickered and giggled and smiled. How they'd hugged and held hands and wanted to do more.

He tells her that he loves her.

She remembers who she is again: she is Hermione. And she is loved.

Bellatrix lifts the curse and she knows she is sobbing.

But he is screaming her name. Bellatrix leans over her slumped form, pulling Hermione's hands away from their current position cradling her head. A knee is in her stomach and she can't breathe completely now.

She feels stabbing in her arm, raking through her flesh. And she screams and this time she remembers every second.

Bellatrix smiles at her handy work, a lifetime later.

And the only thing Hermione remembers - the _only _thing, as she reads the letters on her arm, the running ink her own blood - is _hatred_.

But, and then she remembers this vividly, Ron, the first time anyone had been so bigoted and placed a term on her she didn't even know existed. She remembers Ron, his skin turning as red as his hair with incredible anger. Remembers him burping slugs for her.

And though she is in an incredible amount of pain. And sure she is going to die.

She remembers Ron burping slugs. For her.

She remembers more, too, her parents. Teaching her everything, patiently. Kissing her cuts (though she knew this was more than anyone could handle, now). Making her feel loved and welcome, even in a world that wasn't really her own anymore.

She remembers that she needs to _lie_.

And then more curses rip through her. He screams her name and she thinks of him burping slugs and her father singing her The Beatles as she fell asleep and somehow.

She remembers everything that's ever mattered: She is Hermione. And she - more than torture or hate or _life_, even - is loved.

…

She has broken ribs and bruises and cuts that are still healing, and the curse lingers in her muscles and nerves. But those will go away.

She has a scar on her neck and her arm. And nightmares. Those will be there forever.

She wakes, her second night at Shell Cottage, from one of the worst ones yet. She doesn't scream when she has them, not out loud, at least. She hasn't talked about it yet. He hasn't pushed her and she hasn't made him.

Luna stirs, mumbling, "Hermione?" and sitting up slowly, her blond hair silver in the moonlight.

Hermione shakes her head and feels the inexplicable need to hold back tears. "It's okay. Go back to sleep," she murmurs, but Luna looks thoughtful.

"I heard you," she says, in her dreamy, Luna way.

"During what?" though she knows very well what Luna is referring to.

"No one had survived that many before," she states.

Hermione forgets to breathe.

"Ron was very furious and Harry was talking to a mirror, but before Dobby brought me here, I counted six curses. No one had survived that many before. Not by Bellatrix, at least."

Luna lays back down, but doesn't close her eyes.

Hermione doesn't know what to do, what to say, but she's sore and exhausted, so she lays back on the bed, her head even with Luna's.

"I imagine the stars are beautiful above the ceiling," Luna says.

"I imagine they are," Hermione whispers, tears finally falling.

Luna takes Hermione's left arm and puts her fingers gently against her scar. "This means you are very brave, Hermione."

Hermione smiles, a tiny, flicker of a smile, but it's there. Her tears are salty like the sea and the air.

"Please don't forget that," Luna tells her.

"I won't," Hermione fights out amid sobs she has not yet allowed herself to cry.

Luna smiles and closes her eyes. "Sweet dreams, Hermione."

Hermione wipes her tears with a deep breath. "Goodnight, Luna."

...

She's alone in the garden, up early because there are so many nightmares it's impossible to pretend to sleep. The weather in Australia is beautiful, and she would find solace in Ron's arms, curled up in his bed, but she'd never get caught with him at her parents' house, though she suspected they already knew.

She wraps her dressing gown tighter around her shoulders, completely emotionally worn out.

There were the basics she'd had to tell: _There had been a war. She was marginally involved. It was the only way to keep them safe._

Her parents had listened and nodded and assured her that it was okay. That they understood (which she knew they didn't, but they understood in their way, which was all that mattered). That she was their daughter and they were just glad she was back in their life again, forever.

The flowers are ranges of different colors, colors that it seems like she's missed.

"Hermione," her father says, and his voice makes her jump.

He smiles gently, still in his dressing gown. He sits next to her on the small bench, taking her hand in his.

"I did remember," he tells her.

Her brows knit together.

"I would see someone your age, and feel rather lonely. I found myself looking for girls - women," he corrects with a small smile, squeezing her hand. She smiles back. "I wanted people to look like you. I didn't know why. I felt," he pauses, biting his bottom lip in am expression that Hermione knows she mirrors all the time, "I felt like I was searching for something in the fog that I just couldn't quite see."

Hermione leans her head on his shoulder, knowing only contact could tell him what she wanted so badly to say.

"I know you weren't 'marginally involved' in this war, either, Hermione," he says very softly.

She sighs. "I was tortured," she admits quietly.

Her father doesn't say anything, doesn't move an inch, just allows her to continue, even though she knows he is immensely sad and boiling over with anger at the same time.

She pulls back the sleeve of her dressing gown. His eyes are brimming with tears as his fingers shakily trace the letters. "It's a derogatory term for Muggle-born wizards," she whispers.

"This is because of me?" He looks horrified.

Hermione shakes her head, staring at the scar. "It's because of awful, evil people. Not you. _Never _you."

Her father is quiet.

"I thought of you when..." she whispers, meeting his eyes (her eyes, too) and hoping he understands. She swallows. "I remembered you and 'Here Comes the Sun' and, and Ron," she adds with a small smile, and her father nods. "I know that's why I'm here." In 'here' she means 'alive', and she knows he knows that too.

He looks at her through eyes that are blurring with tears. "Hermione Jean Granger, don't ever do that again," he whispers.

She lets out a sobbing laugh and he wraps his arms around her. "I love you, Dad."

He holds her as she cries tears that have been stored up for so long, and he kisses the top of her head.

She pulls out of their hug a lifetime later, everything different and the sun is, literally, beginning to rise, bathing the garden in soft oranges and pinks.

Her father wipes her tears and kisses her forehead, and she feels a few of his tears fall against the skin on her wrist, washing over the hateful word that meant - to her - more love than she'd ever know.

They're more soothing than any magic could ever be.

...

"Honestly, Ronald," she grumbles. "It's not for very long."

He groans into her mouth. Dean and Ginny are standing awkwardly, pretending to avidly chat about Quidditch, waiting for Hermione to board the Hogwarts Express for their final time.

He kisses her again, pulling her tight to him. "No one can ever hurt you ever again," he whispers, and it dawns on her that it's not about her going to Hogwarts.

Her eyes soften and she takes a step back, putting her left hand against his cheek. His eyes flash to her scar. "You can't protect me from life, Ron."

His jaw clenches.

She smiles, her heart full of all of the love she's wanted. "I will be _fine_. Ginny'll be there, and Dean. I'll be too concerned with my NEWTs to get into any trouble without you and Harry, anyways."

He puts both hands on either side of her face, his thumbs dancing along her cheekbones. "Don't forget me that much," he says with a laugh. "Get into a little mischief, at least."

She nods and fights sudden, nostalgic tears. "I love you," she tells him softly.

He grins. "Bloody hell, Hermione, I love you, too."

She shakes her head with a smirk. "Swear all you want while I'm gone," she laughs, letting go of his hands reluctantly with a final, quick kiss.

Ginny smiles as Hermione comes to join them. "Took you long enough," she mumbles.

Hermione rolls her eyes and giggles. They find empty seats.

…

"Merlin, I've missed you," he says, engulfing her in a hug.

She laughs, but she grins, "I've missed you, too."

He kisses her, gently and then more passionately.

"You _are _in public, you know," Ginny says, walking by with a laugh, holding Harry's hand.

"Hi Hermione," Harry smiles.

Hermione suddenly pulls back from Ron. "Harry!" she says excitedly, rushing to hug him.

She turns back to Ron when he groans. "Honestly, Ronald, we will be together _all night_."

The tips of his ears turn bright red, but he smiles.

"Congratulations, Ron," Luna says, walking by happily on her way to see her father waiting up the street.

Hermione and Ron are silently, eyes wide, but soon Ginny starts laughing.

It catches Hermione suddenly and then she _can't stop_, bending over, her hands on her knees. Her laughter becomes silent, and she finds herself gasping for air, she's laughing so hard.

Ron puts his hand on her back. "Are you okay, 'Mione?"

She stands with a soften giggle, clearing her throat and wiping laughter tears from her eyes. "I haven't laughed with you and Harry in _forever_," she states.

Ron smiles sadly and wraps his arm around her. "It appears you're making up for lost time quickly, then."

She smiles and hits him in the chest playfully.

He kisses her forehead."Can we start our night early?" he asks. "Wouldn't want Luna's congratulations to be for nothing."

…

"Hermione. Fuck, Hermione," he moans.

"Stop cursing," she whispers with a low, sensuous laugh, her lips against her chest as she straddles his torso.

He rolls on top of her quickly, his hands and lips everywhere at once on her smooth skin. Her eyes roll back in her head and she arches her back to meet him.

"Oh," they hear from the door, George standing with the biggest smirk, leaning against the frame.

Hermione can't help but groan quietly in exquisite pleasure - Ron's still _in _her. Ron ends up laying down flat against her, and she tries to keep quiet. "Leave," Ron fights out.

George laughs. "I'll put up a Sound-Proofing charm for you. Seems genius over here," he gestures towards Hermione, "forgot one."

"Now, George," Ron grunts, and Hermione has to bite her lip to keep from moaning.

George closes the door with a nod and a laugh.

"Why do you have such a huge family?" Hermione fights out in between gasps.

"Next time we'll go to your house," he murmurs into her skin.

But she forgets.

Everything, in those moments.

Her body begins to fall away into splendid oblivion, and she can _feel _him filling her, meeting her, with hope and trust and love.

He is matched perfectly in time with her, because they are Ron and Hermione and that's enough.

She forgets everything that doesn't matter, that never has.

And she only remembers: She is Hermione. And she is loved.

...

"Ronald," she whispers, her head against his sweaty chest. He traces her features as they curl up together.

"Hmmm?"

"I'm glad I remembered the charm this time. We're quite loud, really," she says matter-of-factly.

He laughs, and she loves the sensation under her cheek. "Your parents are _next door_, too."

She smiles into his skin, counting his heartbeats as his pulse slows. His breathing becomes deeper and more even, and she knows he's falling asleep.

She hums him 'Here Comes the Sun' as she drifts off.

Because he has nightmares too and they both need reminders sometimes.

* * *

><p>AN: So, what did you think? Let me know :) Thanks always!<p> 


End file.
